Vile
by VillainousVexation
Summary: While Evey is in prison, V disgusts himself. WARNING: Very smutty, very dark, VERY twisted. HEED the rating. Seriously. We have graphic sex, noncon, selfinjury, and general squick. So if this stuff offends you, DO NOT READ THIS.


Rating: NC-17

Summary: While Evey is in prison, V takes a trip to crazy-land.

Warnings: You name it. Violence, language, graphic sex, rape, masturbation, self-injury, and serious angst. PLEASE do not read this if that stuff bugs you. PLEASE. I cannot afford my own therapy, let alone yours as well.

Disclaimer: Not mine. If they were mine, I would be much nicer to V.

'The first and best victory is to conquer self; to be conquered by self is of all things most shameful and vile.'

- Plato

(this is not supposed to be happening)

Everything was going according to plan. V was good at making plans. And he had thought through Evey's incarceration with the same intensity that he had planned his revolution. Even the smallest details warranted his complete attention. And, much like his revolution, everything was going according to plan.

(except this)

The prisoner was coming along nicely. (the prisoner not evey if she's evey then i'm me and i'm doing this to her no the prisoner we are all prisoners)

V had deposited Valerie's letter to her just that morning, and already he could see a change. The hardening in her eyes. The defiance in her voice. The purpose in each shaking, weakened footstep. He could see these differences. He had experienced them himself.

(no one nothing i experienced nothing she is the prisoner i am the guard not like those guards but i am a guard not like them)

V had adapted to his new life quite well. During the day, he planned and organized his revolution. At night, he dealt with the prisoner. She had no concept of day and night in her cell, so he had simply switched her schedule. It made things markedly easy for him. It also gave him a reason not to sleep.

By day, he was V. By night, the guard. And Evey was always the prisoner. If she was a person, a real human being, than he couldn't do what he needed to. And he could not fail her. Not in this.

(this is not supposed to be happening)

The thought flashed across the guard's mind as he bathed the prisoner. Once every few days, he dragged her screaming into the showers, stripped her bare, and strung her up. Her wrists would be raw for days from pulling against her restraints. He would get the hose, make the water scalding or freezing, and turn it on her bare body.

The prisoner screamed. This was different too. Before, she had merely sobbed, and cringed away from him in shame as he leered behind the mask. Now, she screamed. In pain and rage, at volumes that made his ears ring long after he had returned her to her cell. And she didn't hide her body from him. Not anymore. Instead, she seemed to square off against him. Her eyes would squint against the spray from the hose, her lips would curl into a sneer, and her feet would slide desperately along the slick floor as she tried to stand tall.

V was proud. He was impressed. But he was not in the showers with her. It was the guard who laughed and mocked her. It was V who sat outside her cell door for hours, listening to her breathe and trying not to think. It was V who wanted to free her. The guard made rude comments about her breasts, sexual innuendoes as she hung helpless (not so helpless anymore) from the ceiling. It was V who noticed how thin she had become, how prominent her ribs and hips were growing, and how the bruises on her body were taking longer and longer to heal.

(this is not supposed to be happening)

And, by that logic, it was the guard who grabbed his crotch with his free hand and cackled at the prisoner. She shot him a look of pure hate as she twisted before him.

'Taking longer to clean you this time. You know what they say about dirty girls. I can always tell a whore. Think anyone could hear you screamin' over the water?' The guard spat onto the floor. The prisoner was silent, biting back a scream as the freezing water raked across her exposed breasts.

'Gettin' excited, are we? You'd probably enjoy it.' He took a step towards her. There was a flash of fear in her eyes, and she tried to back away. The guard laughed again, and hit her square in the face with the hose. As she coughed and gagged on the water, he turned it off.

'Maybe next time. Not sure I'd want to fuck a terrorist's whore anyway.' The prisoner slumped to the floor for a second. In disgust, he threw her clothing at her.

'Get dressed. You're disgusting.' Mutely, she did as she was told. She had barely finished pulling the orange cloth over her before the guard was dragging her back to her cell. She didn't fight. But she didn't exactly give in, either. There were no whimpers or tears or pleas as her bare legs scraped against the rough cement. It was, the guard noted, as if she had gone someplace that even the torture couldn't reach her.

He threw her into her cell, unceremoniously slamming the door behind him. The guard walked down the hallway.

(this is not supposed to be happening)

V emerged into the Shadow Gallery, pulling off the Rossiter mask. He let out a slow breath. He knew the stronger the prisoner (evey) became, the more extreme the torture would have to become. V shook his head. He'd think about that later. For now, he enjoyed the feel of no mask against his face, one of the few amenities he could enjoy now that Evey no longer lived with him. He was, for the moment, anonymous. Then why did he feel so uncomfortable? He glanced down at his uniform.

He had an erection. V stared at it blankly, as if he had never seen such a thing. For a few moments, he gaped at it almost stupidly, unable to comprehend it. The guard might have been excited by those things, but he wasn't. The guard was a part, a performance. Extreme vaudeville. V, who had been through this and worse, would never find such an experience... stimulating.

(this is not supposed to be happening)

He closed his eyes and took a long, deep breath. He opened them. His erection persisted. He had enjoyed it. Not the guard. V. V the freedom fighter, the revolutionary, had enjoyed torturing a helpless young woman.

(no no no no wrong wrong very wrong i would not do that i would not feel that could not, not about evey the prisoner not about anyone mistake this is all a mistake)

V looked around at the Gallery wildly. He suddenly felt a wave of shame that nearly knocked him down. Not for what he had done to the prisoner, or even for what his body was currently doing. For sullying the Gallery, his Gallery, with something so sordid and depraved. Suddenly, he dove back into the prison.

V walked into the empty cell next to the prisoners'. His hands were shaking inside the guard's gloves. He yanked them off and flung them away. V was in the cell. V was in the prison. He did not have the mask or gloves to act behind. There was no performance.

And he had enjoyed it. He had enjoyed the power, the freedom. He was not so much aroused by her body as what her body represented. He could do anything within those walls. And nobody could stop him. He could hold her down and-

V retched quietly into the corner of the cell, hands gripping his knees for support. His erection persisted. After he was done, he pressed his cheek against the cool wall. He could hear the prisoner on the other side. Reading the letter, no doubt.

(Valerie Valerie what happened what happened i have to do this not an issue that is not the issue but when did this become pleasure others pain my pleasure when did the line fade between me and them there is no line i could never do that not what they did to you i'm sorry)

V closed his eyes, his bare palms spread flat against the wall, his forehead touching it lightly Bracing his body with his hands, V began to thrust against the wall. There was no thought behind the movement.

And it hurt. It rubbed him raw, nearly made him sick again. But he kept doing it, his thrusts becoming more frantic, no real rhythm behind them. Just the need to hurt and release.

(not her not her never her if someone is hurt for my enjoyment it is me not the prisoner which of us no no it hurts i can hear her this is the closest we can ever get)

V bit back a noise that was a mix of pain and joy. His shaft felt tender and sore, but his arousal only seemed to be growing. His breath was coming in short, hateful gasps. He thought of Evey and Valerie and Larkhill and control. He heard the prisoner crying softly through the wall. He ground himself against the hard cement as roughly as possible without blacking out.

And he's in his cell at Larkhill, back when he was still Five, before Valerie and V, being pushed to the floor by two guards as another straddles him. As the pain starts and another piece of the person he was shrivels and dies, he starts to scream. He screams, knowing there is no one left to hear him.

Fucking Evey on an examination table, too weak to fight him anymore. One of them is screaming, one of them is crying. There is blood and sweat and dirt covering Evey's frail body. She is begging him to stop. He is wearing the guard's costume, and Fawke's face.

Evey becomes Valerie and he is the one who killed her. He killed them all, and he is still allowed to feel this liquid fire in his diseased veins. She begs him to stop, and he hears her. But he doesn't stop. V doesn't stop. Not the guard. V. V doesn't want to stop.

And then he is inside her and she is inside him and the memories and fantasies are all the same and the wall is chafing him through his pants but it feels good and right, this pain streaking through his body is the only thing that makes sense, it is judgment and he deserves every beautiful, agonizing second.

Valerie becomes Evey and Evey becomes Doctor Diana Stanton, the first, the beginning and end of a life and V has read his Freud and his hips are moving, trying to hurt her as she has hurt him, trying to reach the human pieces deep inside her that must be there because there has to be something for him to kill.

And then it is just Evey, weeping and struggling and kicking at him as he pours all his rage and pain into her weakened body, even as she calls to him with the hope he will realize what is happening, she calls him and he hears her and he sees the exact moment the light in her eyes dies.

And then it is just V, alone in a makeshift cell, bucking his slim hips against the wall the separates him from the prisoner, from Evey. His orgasm, when it rolled over him, was more like pain. It would have shattered him, if there had been anything left to break.

When V opened his eyes, he was leaning with his back against the wall, gasping for breath. Torn bits of fantasies and memories drift through his mind. His mouth tastes of bile. There is blood on his pants, and a steady throb of pain between his legs.

(no one will ever know what happened here because i will never tell there is no memory to hold onto or to damage the idea because there is no one here to remember just a disease)

V rose to shakily to his feet. He could hear the prisoner turning the letter over in her hands. There were two women in that cell.

(sorry Valerie i sent you back to hell i needed you couldn't do this on my own one more time my love give her what you gave me give her the love that kept me alive the love i can't give her because she already has more than i can afford)

V walked out of the cell, out of the prison, back to the Gallery. His mind was blissfully on autopilot. He needed a shower. He needed to clean his costume. He needed to kill Evey because she embodied the last traces of a soul lingering within him. He needed to eat something. He needed to get some rest. He needed to dig up Valerie's bones from their mass grave at Larkhill and scream at them for leaving him, leaving him alone with such an enormous task.

(i didn't do those things they didn't happen not the examining table wasn't real or real could i could i do that to evey?)

V sat at his piano, delaying all his needs. Of their own accord, his fingers began to play the theme to the film 'Halloween.'

(it's all right understandable the body that houses the idea is not pure never an issue diseased damaged disgusting weak needs of the flesh i do not deserve this life evey evey i didn't touch her never she needs this it is all about needs not wants an unfortunate need there are kinks in the armor that must be hammered out)

(i need i do not want as long as there is only need and no want i am safe)

V rose from the piano to go bathe. He moved around it carefully. He didn't want to get blood on the keys.


End file.
